Fighter Poem by James Mills

Free to choose?
Yeah. Like your colour,
or the knuckles on your fist.
Strong men impelled you,
your strong heart impaled you,
wriggling, on the line they shoot.
Say it loud
you're black and you're proud.
Proud to be free, and strong;
proud of a race, set upon
all along, put down, rolled over,
sold, shamed, battered and battering.

Dynamite in your fist,
you enlist
for the knockout kiss.
You cannot miss.
Green-backs smack your brain
with interestin' dreams.
Your interest in dreams
is gettin' out,
hittin' back,
headline news on the back page,
black sage, full of rage,
outta the cage of square rings.
Hear all the people sing,
the crowd roar, hope soar -
hope sour.

Deadlined, straightlined
on the brainscan.
Also ran.
Damn. Damn.